


Mr Law and the No Good Very Bad New Mayor

by Andromalius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And how Jean Valjean thinks he's saving Javert, BAMF Javert, BAMF Valjean, Eventual Fluff, Javert as a stripper, Javert the undercover policeman, Jean Valjean the really confused mayor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, but he isn't, but kind of yes, but not really, but they take down a drug ring first because they're BAMF, potential adoption I'm not sure yet, pre romance, pre slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:20:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromalius/pseuds/Andromalius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When M. Madeleine became mayor he didn't expect to find himself accidentally in a strip bar. And he certainly didn't expect to find his old prison guard as one of the strippers. Who knew M. Javert was so - multi talented? </p><p>Or the one in which Valjean is well-meaning but confused, Javert is secretive and amused, Fantine wants to matchmake already bloody hell and it's the modern AU no one really wanted but you're getting because I can't help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr Law and the No Good Very Bad New Mayor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr in response to this piece of art: http://madmoro.tumblr.com/post/91565152029/dear-m24601-in-this-special-day-i-want-to-give because I am a visual creature and my inspiration is weird. An unashamedly AU piece with a slightly OOC Javert and a very confused Valjean - hopefully everyone enjoys as I try to figure out where it is going!

Monsieur Madeleine was too old for all this - shit - to parse a sentence that might get him in trouble with a priest later. To be sure, the town was pleasant enough. And of course his recent development of environmentally friendly leather products that were made without harming any animals and on top of that used cheaper base materials was not harming the local economy at all. However, far too many people were far too interested in the new mayor’s background. Apparently it was not exactly easy to turn up on the political scene in your later middle age (at least that was what he liked to call it) and pretend that you were oh-so-very-uninteresting-really-monsieur. He tried changing the topic to the weather but even the talk of global warming was not enough to get the reporters off his back with their snide little questions about his social life, his past endeavors and where he went to school when he was a boy.

At least the line ‘How should I remember that long ago?’ seemed to have gone down relatively well. 

Oh these city walls. They made him feel penned, like the cell he was working so hard to forget. You could not completely forget, not twenty years of your life governed by clanging cell doors, buzzers going off at specific times, every day, always the same, restraints, orange, shaved heads, tribal warfare under bright lights where everyone need to know which dog is on top and who is going to roll over and bare his throat next. He had never been a top dog, though he’d had the temper of one. Valjean had kept a dog once, back when he’d been a poacher, and it had been exactly of his temperament. Hungry and mean-tempered when cornered, prone to scowling so that it would warn people to keep away because both of them hated actually lashing out. Lashing out, biting the hand that fed and kept you came with repercussions. The dog had been smart enough to learn and he never had. He’d barely gotten out that last time up before the parole board. Good behavior? Pah. He was mean and sullen and too big to handle for most of the guards - except that one… 

Ah. But he hated the town walls some days. Valjean - or as he had to remember to call himself -  _Madeleine_ wanted to get some peace, some sort of respite from the reporters and the social workers, the charities and the complaints, the paperwork and his already beleagured secretary with his already too tall stack of paperwork. God - and Madeleine was on good terms with the Almighty so he  _knew -_ would forgive him for just once stepping away from that awful responsibility. Ever since he had taken the Priest’s silver credit card, he had known that there was something terrible about redemption. It sat heavier than the weight of the manacles on his wrists ever had. You had to work at it and there was never a day off and never a time where slipping up didn’t feel like you had flung yourself into a pit and were drowning. He needed to walk off his current mood, his restlessness or he would do something that would set him back again. 

Madeleine tossed on his overcoat against the chill of the air and slipped out of his office, telling Jerome to close up behind him and ignoring the discontented sigh that his secretary was taking to making any time he felt that M. Le Mayor was taking far too many liberties with his role. Well - bite me, Madeleine thought, and immediately felt bad about thinking so. Again with the priest. 

He walked aimlessly from his office, drawing his collar up and his cap down so as to avoid recognition. Almost automatically he turned his steps towards the seedier, darker streets, following his nose down alleys that no respectable Mayor would go down but Valjean from twenty years ago would have frequented. It was rare that he allowed himself to follow the older side of himself, to see the seedier seamier side of the city. But even a redeemed man has to remember his roots and even a Mayor needs to know everything that goes on with his people. Perhaps he was lying to himself, Valjean didn’t really know. He wanted to walk, so he walked. He looked. He thought, about his family and what he had lost in the prison, about his past and what he had to hide. Eventually he slipped into a place with a forgettable name and took a seat near the back, ordering a beer so as not to stand out from the crowd. Madeleine was, in fact, so lost in his thoughts that it wasn’t until the lights dimmed and a voice blared over the nondescript metal soundtack that was playing in the background. 

“And now, gents and dames for tonight’s entertainment… starting off our line up is Himself - the one and only bad boy of the Force, don’t piss him off or he will do you in and make you like it - Mr Law!”

Madeleine started as what sounded suspiciously like Judas Priest’s 'Breaking the Law’ started playing far too loudly, and looked up from the murky remains of his beer to find that - oh dear Lord in Heaven and all your blessed angels, yes somehow he was in what seemed to be a stripjoint and yes he had to get out of there now because apparently a male stripper was about to start stripping and he didn’t need to think about that, he really didn’t because he was going grey already and this would not help at all!

Panic, as it happened, stopped him from being able to scuttle from his table like a terrified rabbit before the stripper could come out on the stage and when Mr Law - a tall, thin, neat man in an immaculate police uniform actually  _did_ appear, Madeleine found that his legs had gone to jelly beneath him and he could no longer muster the power to rise. 

Apparently Mr. Law was none other than his old prison guard, and though his mouth was suddenly dryer than the Sahara desert itself he could not quite deny that Mr Law Otherwise Known as M. Javert looked - well - very good.


End file.
